Run
by SunseticMonster
Summary: Vincent Crabbe cannot read. Hermione Granger finds this to be unacceptable. Can Vincent overcome his learning disability as the lure of the Dark Arts and the call to become a servant of the Dark Lord grow ever stronger? Story begins in 5th year.
1. Chapter 1

This story was originally written for an odd-pairing challenge and another challenge of which I cannot disclose until the story is over with. Unfortunately, life got in the way and I ended up moving, so I never got to finish the fic in time, but I happen to like this one quite a bit, so I figured I would share. Enjoy!

...

...

He'd first noticed her in Potions class second year. He knew her name was Granger, of course. He wasn't completely thick, after all, he was just, you know. . . his father called it "slow," and his mother used that infernal word, "special."

Vince knew what special meant, though, and he thought that word applied to other people. Smart people were special. Pretty people were special. Smart, pretty people like Hermione Granger were especially special.

She thought he was stupid, though. Vince had seen the way she'd laugh at him with Potter and Weasley every time Vince's cauldron would blow up or he'd give the wrong answer in class. He even knew about the time she'd tricked him into eating some sort of drugged cake. It had been humiliating, waking up in a closet with no clothes on, and having to explain himself to Filch, all the while being pelted by Peeves with freezing, cold water balloons.

As he grew older, she'd paid little attention to him. Instead, she wasted her time worrying about the red-head or the scarhead, or saving the world from evil or some such rot.

In fifth year, Vince had been partnered up with Granger in Potions class. While she was busy chopping Valerian Root, he'd peeked down into her bag that she'd left open on the floor beside her chair. There were a bunch of these funny little blanket circles in the bag, so Vince had leaned over farther, trying to get a better look.

Suddenly the bag snapped shut, the neat little belt locks tied into place.

Vince peered up at Granger who was glaring at him, wand clutched tightly in her hand. "And just _what_ do you think you're doing?" she snapped.

"What's it to you, Mudblood?" Vince retorted. He heard Greg chuckle from across the room upon hearing the word and stopped himself from rolling his eyes at his dolt of a friend. Greg only laughed because he was supposed to laugh.

"Well," she said in a deep, boisterous voice that sounded suspiciously like his own, "Gee, Crabbe, I don't know. Erm- maybe because it's _my bag_ and my personal property?" Her voice switched from slow and stupid-sounding back to her usual snippity tone.

"You shouldn't have left it wide open then, Mudblood."

Greg laughed again. "Good one, Crabbe," he called.

"How _dare_ you?" she snapped, chopping angrily at a stem of Valerian Root. "You have a lot of nerve, calling me that." She slammed the knife down and fixed Vince with a blazing stare. "Especially when I'm giving you an O for the day!"

Vince scowled. "I could get O's if I wanted."

Granger let out a bark of laughter. "Yes, I'm certain you could."

"Slytherins are 'sposed to be good at Potions," Vince added, lamely.

"Really. What's your excuse, then?"

_Because I'm stupid, _Vince thought, bitterly. _Because I can't read, properly. Because when I see the ingredients I get them all mixed up._

He quickly changed the subject. "Why d'you have tiny blankets in your bag?"

Granger frowned. "Wh-what?"

"Inside your bag," Vince said, giving a small nod with the side of his head. "I saw 'em. A bunch of little blankets. What are they for?"

She made a haughty sound. "I hardly think that's any of your concern," she said in an important voice. "Why aren't you any good at Potions if Slytherins are supposed to be so bloody brilliant?"

Vince put on a haughty voice that mimicked Granger's. "I hardly think that's any of your concern," he said.

Granger scowled at him for a moment and then gave him an odd look.

Vince felt the corners of his mouth turn up against his will. _There_, he wanted to say. _I'm not completely witless._

She let out a short laugh and narrowed her eyes. "Very funny," she snapped, but her face was crinkled with just the slightest hint of amusement.

Vince shrugged and resumed popping the buds off of a sprig of Mugwort.

"Read off the next step," she ordered.

Vince could feel his heart begin to pound faster in his chest. He glanced nervously down at the book as the letters swam before his eyes. He could do this, he thought. He was not going to look stupid in front of Hermione Straight-O's Granger.

"Wh-which was the last step again?" he mumbled, trying to buy himself some time to sound out the letters. Vince knew step four had been "add the chopped Valerian Root," and he desperately tried to remember what Snape had said when he'd read the directions out loud at the beginning of class.

"Add the chopped Valerian Root," she supplied, carefully dumping the chopped bits into the cauldron and lightly brushing her hands back and forth over the steaming bubbles.

Vince gulped. Maybe he could go to the bathroom. He could say it was an emergency. That usually worked with Professor McGonagall. Or at least it had until—

"Hurry, Crabbe. It's beginning to boil and I've got the juices all over my hands. Just read it out loud."

Shite. Shite. Step number five . . . number five. He frantically scanned the page. Ah, there. He'd spotted the number five and began to sound out the words. "Five min- minutes until g-golden b-berries."

Vince cringed. That didn't sound right. Snape hadn't said anything about berries, but Vince had seen the B and the R and he just guessed and fuck, judging by the look on Granger's face he'd guessed wrong.

"What?" she asked, wrinkling up her nose in a way that Vince would have liked had it not been a result of his own inferiority. "What berries? Are you on the right page?"

Holding her hands out in front of her as if they were poisonous instead of just covered in juices, Granger leaned heavily over Vince, her body nearly in his lap, to read the directions out loud. "Step five. Mix until golden brown."

Granger frowned and stood up slowly, giving Vince a curious look. He could feel a hideous flush begin to stain his cheeks and knew how embarrassingly foolish he looked. He'd never worn a blush well. His cousin used to tease him and call him Rotten Tomato Face when they were younger.

"Why did you say that?" she asked him quietly.

"'Cause I knew it'd make you look," he quickly replied. Vince immediately wanted to sink into the ground and die. There was no way she was going to buy that.

Granger made a small "Mmm," sound, then turned back to the cauldron and began to stir.

Vince raised his hand. "Professor, I need the loo, please."

Snape barely suppressed an eye-roll. "When your potion is finished, Mr. Crabbe."

"But—"

"I assume Ms. Granger is not giving you any trouble?"

"No, sir," Vince said.

"Good," Snape said. "Carry on."

"Yes, carry on, Crabbe," chimed Draco from across the room. "Unless you want to attend Remedial Potions with that tosser, Potter."

Goyle laughed. "Good one, Draco."

Vince ignored them. He reached his stubby fingers into the collar of his shirt and tried to loosen his tie. It was getting hot. Really hot. He wiped the sweat off his upper lip and peered back at Granger who was staring directly at him.

"What?" he asked.

"Nothing," she said. "Only, could you read me the next direction?"

Vince scowled at her. She was obviously making fun of him—trying to make him read when she knew he couldn't. "Read it yourself, Mudblood bitch," he snapped.

The insult barely seemed to register and instead of snapping back, Granger turned to him with soft eyes. "I-is it difficult for you to read?"

"No!" he retorted, too quickly to be convincing. "I'm not stupid."

"I didn't say you were stupid. I don't think you're stupid."

"You just asked me if I knew how to read."

Granger paused in her preparation and lowered her voice, stepping closer to Vince and making his pulse race. "Crabbe," she whispered, "I don't think you're stupid. But if you have something like Dyslexia, you need to ask for help."

The foreign word made Vince wrinkle up his head in confusion. "If I've _what_?"

"Look," she said. "My father has it, too. And he's one of the most intelligent people I know."

"What're you talking about?" Vince asked, completely lost. "Your father has what?"

"Dyslexia," Granger said, then widened her eyes as if realizing that Vince didn't know what she was talking about, after all. "You don't know what Dyslexia is, do you?"

Vince shook his head, feeling all the more foolish. He couldn't wait until this class was over.

"It's when something in the brain causes you to mix up letters when you're reading. It's very common."

"Something in the brain?" Vince asked.

Snape began to approach their desk and Granger stood on her tiptoes to whisper into Vince's ear. Her breath tickled his skin and he tensed up at the closeness. "If you want to talk more, I'll be in the Library at seven. Come find me."

….

….

….

_Come find me_.

Vince had walked around in a daze the rest of the afternoon. Granger had said she'd wanted to see him. He didn't think it was a trick; she seemed far too mature for that these days. Plus, what she'd said about mixing up letters-it was all true. That was what Vince's eyes did when he tried to read. It used to frustrate him when he was younger, but as he grew older and the other "struggling readers" caught up and moved on, Vince had stopped asking for help, figuring that he would always be a bit of a dud.

He'd hurried back to his Slytherin dorm room after supper ended at 6:30 to clean himself up properly for his meeting with Granger. A voice inside his head chastised him as he washed his face, brushed his teeth and applied a hefty dollop of pomade to his hair. It wasn't a date. She didn't like him.

And she was a Mudblood, anyway.

"Just where do you think _you're_ going?" Pansy blocked him, hands on her hips. "Going to ravish some Hufflepuff Third Years, you dapper dog?"

"No."

"Hmmm." She narrowed her beady, over-penciled eyes. "Why's your hair like that?"

Vince shrugged.

"Answer me."

"Get out of the way, Pansy." Vince lumbered past her and picked up his school bag, heading toward the Library.

When he got there, the Library was nearly empty. Small, lit candles burned on each table, casting the room in a spooky glow. Vince had never seen the Library this late before, but he suspected Granger spent a lot of time there.

Swallowing his nerves, he walked quietly up toward her table. She was surrounded by a mountain of books and her brown hair glowed like a fuzzy halo around her head.

"Um. Hullo, Granger," Vince muttered.

Granger whipped her head up with a jerk. "Oh!" Then her look of surprise transformed into a bright smile. "You came."

"Yeah," Vince said, shifting uncomfortably.

"Well, sit down," she ordered. Vince went to sit in the seat across from her, but she shoved over her pile of books and patted the chair beside her.

Vince walked around the table and tentatively sat. He glanced down nervously at the large hands in his lap and began to wring his fingers.

"Now," she said, scribbling something onto parchment and punctuating it with a flourish before setting her quill down. "I've been doing some research on Dyslexia and I've found that the Wizarding World is grossly undereducated about Learning Disabilities. The ignorance is astounding. It's as if Wizards pretend they don't exist at all, which is utter rubbish."

Vince didn't know what she was talking about, but he nodded his head anyway. "Okay."

"The good news is," Granger dug through the pile before her and pulled out a large, blue book, "there are spells that can help. Spells that exercise the brain muscles to assist with letter-recognition and automaticity."

"What?"

"It's not a cure," she said, raising a warning hand to a baffled Vince, "but over time, if we work together, we can train your brain to see letters the way that others see them."

Vince widened his eyes. "What? What d'you mean work together?"

"I mean, I'll conduct the spells and help you with the exercises in the book."

Vince rubbed a hand over his eyes. "I got no idea what you're talking about, Granger," he admitted.

"Reading," Granger said, earnestly. "To help you with your disability."

Vince shook his head.

Granger let out an irritated huff. "Just-come back tomorrow."

"But you're a Gryffindor," Vince argued, pointlessly.

"Yes, I am."

"Well, what's in it for you? We're not friends. Why should you help me?"

"Ah, right," she nodded, seriously, and Vince couldn't help but feel that she was laughing at him a bit. "The joys of research?" she asked with a hopeful grin.

Vince shook his head.

"No? Er-the quest for Interhouse Unity?"

Vince laughed, despite himself and Granger laughed, too.

"Well, you think of the price then," Granger offered, placing a hand on Vince's shoulder.

Vince was beginning to feel sorely out of his league. He had nothing to offer this smart, pretty Muggle-born girl. They had nothing in common. He had no talent, except for smacking around Bludgers with a Beater's Bat. He was ready to call it quits right then and there. It was a dumb idea, anyway.

Vince scratched his head and looked over at Madame Pince's desk. "D'you really think you can teach me to read?" he asked in a small voice, half expecting the rest of the Gryffindor Golden trio to pop out from behind a bookshelf with that little blond camera-boy and turn Vince into the official Laughingstock of Hogwarts. He could picture it now: a snapshot of his big, gormless face under the title "Fifth Year Slytherin asks Gryffindor Genius How to Read."

Granger tightened her fingers on his shoulder. "Yes," she said firmly. "Yes, I know I can."

"I got nothin' to give you back."

"Just," she sighed. "You'll think of something. Biscuits or . . . or a Potions ingredient or something."

Vince nodded slowly. He'd find her something. He'd find her something really nice.

"Okay."

….

….

….

"A diamond necklace?" Granger squeaked, holding the glittering bauble a hairsbreadth away from her brown eyes. Vince grinned at the way it made her eyes shine. It would look really nice on her and he noticed that she didn't have a lot of nice things. Granger was a simple girl—which was fine—but she was too pretty to wear jeans and jumpers every day.

"Okay," Vince said. "Where do we start?" He had been looking forward to their first official session all day and now that he was there he couldn't wait to begin. He was really going to learn how to read—he couldn't believe it.

"Are you insane?"

"Huh?"

"Why would you give me this?"

Vince frowned, feeling hurt. Maybe she didn't like diamonds, after all. Shite. He knew he should have gotten her the emerald one.

"You like emeralds better, right?" he asked, glumly, with a shake of the head. "I knew it."

"Oh," she seemed to notice Vince for the first time. "No-it's . . . Merlin, it's beautiful but it's too much. I can't take this."

"Oh," he said, pushing his chair out to stand up. "I get it."

"Where do you think you're going?"

Vince shrugged. What did she want him to do? "To bed?"

"Oh, no you don't. Sit down."

Vince sat.

"Listen here. If I were to put a price on this lesson it would be worth about two galleons. That necklace?" She pointed at the diamond-encrusted jewels and widened her eyes, "Is worth about ten thousand galleons."

Vince grinned. "You're right! That's exactly what it cost me."

She made another little squeaking noise.

"Wow. You _are_ smart, Granger."

….

….

….

"_Non Alphabetum Misciu."_

Vince felt the familiar tug in the front of his brain. When they'd begun their lessons, the tightness had worried him—what if Granger had been wrong? What if he ended up completely brain- addled? But soon enough, he realized that Granger was never wrong. Granger knew _everything_.

"Okay," she said, as the tightness eased in Vince's head. "Read that."

He rubbed at his forehead for moment and blinked until his vision cleared. Then he peeked down at the illuminated ledger that Granger had placed before him. "Put, hood, hook, foot, push, pudding, took, book, looking," he read easily. "The hook in the pudding's foot should be looking more off-put."

Vince frowned. The author of the book was a complete nutter. How was Vince supposed to know if he was reading the words correctly when the sentences made no sense?

Luckily, he had Granger.

"Excellent," she gushed, as if he had accomplished some amazing feat and not just read a primary school sentence. "That was perfect. You've made so much progress, Vince. I'm so proud of you."

"Should we try the Potions book, next?" he asked, hopefully.

"Oh," Granger said, flipping softly through the pages of words that had been adhered to the ledger. "No, I don't think we're up to that, yet."

"You mean _I'm_ not up to it yet," Vince grumbled, suddenly annoyed. "_You_ been up to it since you was eight years old, I bet."

"Now, Vincent," she said, as if she was admonishing a toddler.

"No. This is pathetic. I'm bloody _pathetic_, Granger." Vince stood up quickly, wanting to be anywhere but next to the girl who made him feel the most inadequate. "This was a stupid idea, anyway."

Granger stood up, suddenly all vim and vigor. "Oh, no you don't. I haven't spent the last two months working with you to have you up and quit because you're suddenly feeling sorry for yourself."

"Oh, yeah? Well, sorry for you, then. Except, oh right. I paid you for it, you cheap bint."

"How dare you!"

"How dare _you_? Who made you in charge, anyway? You're just some know-it-all Mudblood who bosses everybody around. You think you can just fix everyone and everything and make it all better. Well, you can't."

Granger's face was twisted up in confusion and hurt and Crabbe hated seeing that look on her face—hated it—because he knew she didn't deserve it. She deserved more. She deserved to be spending her evenings with people who could benefit from her help. Granger was a noble Gryffindor and should be helping _her_ kind. Not Vincent bloody, useless Crabbe.

He turned away from her and stomped out of the Library.

….

….

….

Vince had been waiting by the doorway of the Potions classroom for ten minutes. He'd left his sodding bag in the Library the night before. When he'd gone back for it later, the bag was gone and so was Granger.

Granger had it, he knew. He prayed that she'd be kind enough to return it to him and noble enough not to go through it.

Oh, how he hoped she had not gone through it.

"We need to talk," Granger's sharp voice permeated through Vince's cloud of anxiety. Her face looked tight and her voice was strained. "Right now."

"Can you—"

"We have ten minutes before class," Granger said. She shifted uncomfortably, her eyes focused everywhere but on Vince. "Follow me. Now."

Granger's voice left little room for argument. She strode down the hall smartly and turned a corner. Vince ambled clumsily behind. He was in no rush to have this conversation.

It was obvious. She'd looked in his bag.

When they were alone, Granger dug her hand into his school bag and pulled out a thick, red, dragonhide tome. "What's this?" she snapped.

Vince shrugged. "Not yours."

"Not yours, either. I'm turning it in to Professor Dumbledore."

"No!" Vince yelped, reaching out for the book. Granger snatched it away. "It's my father's—he'll murder me if I lose it!"

"What are you doing with a book like this?" Granger spat out the words of the title as if they sickened her. "'Eternal Evil: Forced Blood Sacrifices and Blood Bonds Through Darkest Magic'?"

Vince just shrugged. At least now he knew what the title was.

"Do you—do you know what this is? Don't you understand? Last year, Harry-he," Granger sputtered. She sounded more like she was talking to herself. "You're not one of them, are you? No, you're not. You're not."

"I'm not what?"

"Vince, why do you have a book like this?"

"Does it matter?" he snapped. "Can't read it anyway, can I?"

To his annoyance, that seemed to take the wind out of her sails. "No, I suppose not . . . "

"Gimme back my bag."

"Vince," she said softly. "There was something else. Um. That I saw, when—"

Yeah, he knew. "Gimme my bag back, _now_, Granger."

"I saw . . . I saw the note you wrote and—"

No. No, this was not happening.

"And I just want to say how flattered I am and—"

Flattered. _Flattered_?

Vince said nothing, just stood there shaking with rage and humiliation as Hermione Granger unknowingly tore him to shreds.

"And I think you're an incredible artist, Vince. I mean, truly. I'm certain that you," she frowned, "didn't mean for me to see that note or you would have Owled it to me, but you're very talented." She paused. "You're a gifted artist."

Vince took several deep, trembling breaths in through his nose and out through his mouth, just like his nurse had taught him to do when he thought he was going into a fit of rage. "You done?"

She gulped. "Yes."

"Gimme my fucking bag."

Granger held the bag out slightly and Vince tore it viciously from her hands.

He began to stomp back to the Potions Classroom, swallowing the tightness in his throat and hating the weak prickle of tears he felt behind his eyes.

"I'll be in the Library later if you change your mind," Granger's voice called timidly from the corridor.

….

….

….

Vince didn't go to the Library. He stayed in his room, gorging himself on a bucket of Chocolate Frogs and staring disgustedly at the drawing he had made of Granger, head bent over her books, studying in the Library.

He'd felt so inspired when he'd drawn it, so grateful to this smart, pretty girl for wanting to help _him. _Now his cheeks burned with embarrassment. How stupid. The drawing was pathetic and so was he.

And so was _she_ for that matter.

"I'm flattered," Vince mimicked in nasty voice. "Right. I'll bet"

He picked up his wand and blasted the drawing to bits.

Then he picked up the crumpled note—the one that asked Granger if she'd go to Hogsmeade with him—the one he'd never intended for her to read—and threw it in the Common Room fireplace.

"Stupid Mudblood."

….

….

….

Another Troll on his Defense Against the Dark Arts essay. Vince was never going to pass his bloody OWLs.

"Why didn't you read the directions?" Greg asked, making out Umbridge's sloppy script at the top of the page.

"Get stuffed, Goyle." Vince crumpled the paper into the bottom of his school bag.

….

….

….

_This is ridiculous_, Vince thought. _ She'll never go for it._

Not only was Granger undoubtedly angry with him for losing his temper with her and calling her a Mudblood, but she was surely pissed that Vince had been dogging her little club members for weeks with the Inquisitorial Squad and reporting her whereabouts and infractions to Professor Umbridge.

"_I realized that storming out of here and calling you a Mudblood was completely counter-productive. I'll never succeed if I can't read and you are the only person who has really tried to help me. I should have been showering you with thanks, but instead I let my own issues get in the way. I was angry at myself, Granger, not you. And for that I'm truly sorry. I hope you'll give me another chance."_

Vince had practiced it about twenty times in the mirror, inserting the word "counter-productive" into the monologue when he'd heard Draco use it earlier that day and liked the important way that it sounded.

However, when he approached the girl and saw her head bent familiarly over her ever-present stack of books, Vince remembered why he'd run away from her in the first place—the picture, the note—and grew immediately flustered.

"Her-Hermione," Vince tested out her given name, thinking now was as good a time as any to use it.

Her brown eyes lifted slowly to meet his gaze. She blinked. "Could that be Vincent Crabbe? Of the Hogwarts Inquisitorial Squad?"

"Yeah? Uh-um. Uh-I—"

Granger raised her hands up, mockingly. "I'm terribly sorry for the misunderstanding, Sir. But, as you can see, there is only one of me sitting at this table and it is still only," she cast a quick Tempus charm. "7:00 in the evening. Are there any new Ordinances that I should be made aware of?" She cast a look around her person. "No more than one book allowed out at a time, perhaps? Or—should I tie my hair back? Is it causing any sort of a distraction to the other students?"

"Yeah," Vince said. "I mean-no! No. Stop it." He took a deep breath and tried to compose himself. "Just be quiet for a minute. I got somethin' to say."

Granger sat back in her seat and folded her arms across her chest. "Go ahead, Squad Member Crabbe. I'm all ears."

Vince let out a frustrated huff. "Stop it," he said again, then reached down and removed his Inquisitorial Squad badge from his robes. "There. Better?'

Granger shrugged her shoulders and said nothing.

"Look. I'm—" Suddenly, Vince's mind drew a blank. He had forgotten his speech. "I'm completely counter-productive," he began with a stutter. "Right-no. A-and you should be showered. Er-what I mean to say is that my self-esteem is an issue. No. Well, yeah, it is, but." He cringed as the inelegant words tumbled gracelessly from his mouth.

Granger wrinkled up her forehead, casting him a pitying look.

"Fuck. I was bein' a git, okay? I'm real sorry." Vince waited and when she said nothing, he started to speak again. "I had this all planned out, y'know. What I was going to say. And now I've gone and messed this up, too."

Still, Granger said nothing and Vince was beginning to realize what a waste of time this had been. "Never-mind." Blushing furiously, Vince tossed a parchment drawing on top of her pile of books. "There. Since you like pictures so much."

Sitting in the wide-open, the drawing now looked silly and child-like. What had he been thinking? Did he honestly think his little scratch-up quill-drawing of Granger was going to be a bargaining chip in getting his reading lessons back?

Granger was still silent.

"Right. Great. Thanks, anyway, I guess." Vince shrugged. "For trying. And for all the time you spent helping me."

Granger's head was tipped downward. She was staring at the parchment-drawing, clutching it tightly in both of her hands.

Vince shook his head. "Okay. Bye."

"Wait," Granger murmured in a tiny voice. Vince looked back and Granger raised her head up to meet his gaze. Her eyes looked red and watery. She'd probably been studying a lot lately.

"What?"

"Sit down."

"What-now?"

"Yes, now. Right here." She patted the seat beside her, emphasizing each word.

Baffled, Vince walked forward and slowly sat down beside her. Without warning, she flung her arms around him and squeezed. Bushy brown hair tickled his nose and Vince almost laughed, but he didn't because there was literally a woman wrapped around his large girth—as much as one could be—and bloody hell. What was he supposed to do?

The only woman that had ever hugged Vince before was his mum and that was different because she was his _mum_.

"Thank you," Granger murmured into his chest and he could feel the vibration of her voice as she spoke to him. Vince reached up slow arms and wrapped them carefully around Granger, patting her softly on the back because that was what Vince's mum always did.

He silently admonished himself. He wasn't his bloody fat mum, for Merlin's sakes! What was he going to say next? "There, there,"? "The other kids are just jealous of you,"? For crying out loud, he couldn't even hug a girl right.

Granger finally unravelled herself from Vince. He discretely placed a hand on the fabric of his jumper. It was still warm from Granger's body heat. It made him want to smile.

"Okay," she said finally. "I accept your apology."

Vince nodded, letting out a sigh of relief. "Back to work?" he asked hopefully.

Granger grinned. "Yes, Vincent," she said, pulling out the familiar illuminated ledger and word cards. She handed him the ledger and a quill and he took the items, eagerly. "Back to work."

….

….

….


	2. Chapter 2

"The hood-winked pastor ate the vegetables from his master."

"Next."

"Erm—Moving so curvy, the pirate dogged—"

"Dodged."

"I know," Vince snapped. "_Dodged_- scurvy."

"Again."

Vince huffed and placed his hands on his temples. "Moving so curvy, the pirate dodged scurvy."

"Good. Next."

"K-k-Quality quilts of question…able… sk-silks." Vince sighed and dropped the ledger. "Granger, enough," he moaned.

"One more," Granger said with a hopeful nod. "Come on, you're doing fine. One more."

With an exaggerated eye-roll, Vince watched as Granger tapped the ledger again. The letters rearranged themselves into what he hoped would be his final sentence of the evening. He took a deep breath and began, sounding out the letters and words with increasing ease. "The hard-working boy deserves a n-new toy. He'll find something there, h-hiding under his chair."

Granger gave him an encouraging smile and raised her eyebrows.

"What?" asked Vince. "Did I mess it up?"

"No—weren't you listening?"

Vince frowned. "To what?"

Granger sighed and unwound her fingers from where they had been twirling curls into her bushy hair. "To the words, Crabbe."

He drew his eyebrows together and peered down at the ledger, moving his mouth slightly as he re-read the sentence. Then, "Oh. You mean that's— for me?"

Granger grinned and nodded.

"You got me something?" he asked, surprised.

Granger blushed, looking away. "Oh, just something small," she said, flapping her arms in a circle, then folding them into her lap. "You've been working so hard, I just thought . . . you know . . ." Granger let out a little laugh. "Just open it."

Granger got him a gift? Feeling warmed by the idea, Vince clamored out of his library chair and squatted down to peak underneath it. Sure enough, there was a lumpy package, wrapped in parchment scraps and tied up into a curly bow with a piece of twine.

Picking up the package, Vince couldn't resist giving it a little squeeze and a shake to try and find out what it was. The contents were soft, mostly, except for a little hard bit in the corner.

Vince tore open the package and his hand fell on something warm and knit. He pulled it out of the paper and held it up. It was a jumper—a handmade jumper, from what he could tell—and it was large and a bit sloppy and droopy and looked absolutely ace for cold nights in the dungeons. The jumper was a wooly burnt red with a shoddily stitched Hogwarts crest in the upper left corner. Vince fingered the material and could smell the faint hint of Granger—that sort of Granger-y scent that reminded him of book ledgers and library candles—and offered her a smile. "You make this?" he asked.

Granger bit her lip and shrugged. "I was sort of testing it out. I've never tried to make anything quite so large before." Her eyes widened. "Not to say that you're large! I just meant-clothing. For humans. That's all."

"I know what you meant," said Vince, fighting a strange urge to press the material against his chest. Instead he stepped toward Granger and, without having to awkwardly initiate it, Granger opened her arms and gave him a hug. "Thanks, Granger. I really like it."

"You're welcome," she said with a small smile. "There's something else there, too." She gestured to the torn wrappings on the library desk. Vince reached inside them and pulled out a soft, paperback book. The cover was a bit bent up and wrinkly and the binding looked loose with age.

"_Bobby the Beater_?" Crabbe asked, sounding out the words on the cover. There was a picture of a Quidditch Pitch on the front and a muscular looking cartoon depiction of a bloke with a beater's bat and a mischievous grin.

"It's one of those sports mysteries," Granger said with a shrug. "I thought it was time for you to start looking at novels, rather than all those boring sentences." She paused. "I know it looks sort of . . er, juvenile, but I promise you, boys our age still read them. There was a whole pile of these in one of the cabinets in Gryffindor, and I can say with certainty that I've seen 4th and 5th years reading them."

Vince nodded, not sure what to say. He'd never read a novel before, or anything with chapters. That Granger felt he was ready for them was a huge boost to his confidence.

"We can work on it together, if you'd like," she said, pushing her hair back off her shoulder.

Vince gave her a timid nod, then set the book back down on the table. He then pulled the enormous jumper over his head, tugging the fabric over his enormous girth. He held his arms out at his sides and the loose sleeves dipped down to his fingertips. "What do you think?" he asked her.

Granger frowned and looked him up and down, appraisingly. She reached forward and began to roll the sleeves up, bit by bit. It was very uncomfortable, being ogled by Granger, but, when she sat back and her face relaxed into a satisfied smile, Vince felt proud and just a bit giddy. "Perfect," she declared with a nod, "if I do say so myself."

….

….

….

"What's with you today, Granger?"

Granger was gnawing on her lower lip again. It had been bitten into her mouth so much already, that Vince was tempted to offer her a healing salve.

"Nothing," she said distantly, with a frown. She was jumpy and anxious looking despite the grayish pallor to her skin and weary-looking eyes. "Go on," she ordered, tapping the ledger four times with her finger. "Next one."

Vince paused, starting to grow concerned. Granger looked like she hadn't slept in days and her prickly temper was grating on his nerves. "No," he said.

"Crabbe," she bit back, eyes narrowed. "Just-finish up, alright? I'm on a very tight schedule. We've only got until," she whipped out her wand and cast her thousandth Tempus of the night, "eight o'clock. Okay?"

"Granger, no," Vince said, crossing his arms and turning to look at her. "Something's wrong. I can tell."

"That's not your business," she snapped.

Vince tried to ignore her bad mood. He knew she was just being testy because something was bothering her. "Are you ill or something?"

Granger closed her eyes and threaded her fingers tightly through her hair as if she were about to tear it out. "No, Vincent," she said, carefully. "I am _not_ ill. Can we just finish, please?"

"I don't want to finish," he said. "You need a break."

"A break is the _last_ thing I need."

Standing up anyway and ignoring Granger's pleading eyes, Vince pushed the ledger toward her pile of books and placed a hand on her shoulder. Expecting her to jump away from him, Crabbe was shocked when Granger seemed to lean into his hand just a bit, her eyes shut, exhaling deeply.

"Get up," he ordered.

"Crabbe, please . . . "

Without bothering to try and persuade her more, Vince snatched up both of their wands, cast a quick spell sending all of her items back into her back and proceeded toward the door with their belongings.

"Vincent Crabbe!" she hissed, jumping up from her seat. Madame Pince gave her a severe look and put a finger up to her lips. Granger ignored her and scrambled after Vince who was making his way into the corridor. "Get back here! Oh, you—!"

Lumbering quickly, he headed down the corridor and turned left, making sure that she saw which way he went. He headed toward a large, circular area of the castle, lined with benches and a drinking fountain. It was surrounded by floor to ceiling windows which now had a view of the castle grounds in the purpling haze of dusk. He plopped himself down on a bench in the empty space and waited for Granger, huffing and puffing down the corridor, to catch up with him.

"What," she breathed heavily, her eyes wild, "is your problem?"

"You're not a very good teacher when you're in a bad mood," Vince offered with an unapologetic shrug, ignoring her look of indignant outrage. "And I don't feel like wasting my time. Or yours," he added.

She let out an indignant little noise. "Why, you—! Ungrateful!"

"Just sit down, Granger, before your brain explodes or something."

Granger stomped over to the same bench as Crabbe and plopped down with a huff. Her arms were crossed and her shoulders were tense, her body turned tightly inward. Crabbe snuck a look at her and could see the dark expression on her face and noticed her lower lip trembling with what he guessed were unshed tears.

"Here," he said, digging around in his bag until he found a thermos. "Drink this."

"What is it?" she asked, her voice small and weary.

"Tea." He unscrewed the lid and poured a bit into it, handing her the steaming cup.

Granger clamped her hands around the sides of the cup and tilted her head toward Vince. He was used to spending time alone with Granger, but for some reason—with them out of the library—everything felt very . . different. As though the library was their own place in which they were exempt from the rules of Hogwarts life. Here, in the empty corridor, Vince became suddenly aware that he was alone with a pretty girl—a Gryffindor, a _Mudblood_, in a very public area. It could look very bad if someone were to see them. The whole situation made his hands sweaty.

Granger made a little sniffling nose and he could see that she had started crying. She tilted her head further and furiously wiped a hand across her cheek, as though crying in front of Vince had made her angry.

"Granger-Hermione," he said softly, hoping that the use of her first name wouldn't startle her. "'The fuck is it?"

She responded with a little hiccuping sob. Perhaps it was true that girls needed to be treated with softer gloves, but Granger was always so matter-of-fact and bossy with him, it seemed he had forgotten the Unwritten Rules of Women. Not that he'd ever known them, but he supposed those were things others might consider to be common sense.

Though, he'd never really had much in the way of common sense, either.

"I don't mean it in a mean way," he said, shifting awkwardly. Her head dipped further to the side and she buried her face into his shoulder.

"I know," she sniffed, her voice muffled. "I'm just being ridiculous, that's all. It's embarrassing."

Vince reached up a tentative arm and wrapped it around her shoulder. He should have felt funny about doing so, and somewhere, in the back of his mind, he did, but at the moment it just seemed like the right thing to do and he thought it was what Granger wanted him to do. She seemed to turn her body more towards Vince and snuggled into his shoulder with a sigh.

Vince gave her an awkward little pat on her arm. "Don't be embarrassed," he said. "I can't even read. Now that's embarrassing."

Granger shot upright and flashed Vince a scowl. "That isn't true and you know it."

"Yeah," he said, raising his eyebrows, "thanks to you."

"And you," she said. Granger straightened, the dusky purple light casting a cool hue over her skin. She fixed her brown eyes on him. "Give yourself credit, Vincent. For God's sakes—"

"Shut up, I know," Vince grunted, holding out a placating hand. "I'm just trying to make a joke. Lighten up already, Granger."

She made a frustrated sound and pounded a small fist against the bench. "I'm just frustrated, with . . . Merlin with everything. School, OWLS, and that nasty bint, Umbridge," she said through gritted teeth.

Vince bowed his head. "Oh."

"Yeah," her voice shook. "Your favorite Professor. And," she added, throwing a furious look at Vince, "And I wish I _could_ talk to you about it, but, as you know, due to your continued support of that vile woman, that just isn't possible."

"Yeah, I get it."

Granger made a sort of grumbling sound. "You get it," she muttered. "Ha."

"Drink your tea," he said.

"Why," Granger asked, suspicion marring her features. "Why are you so keen on making me drink it? It _is_ just tea, isn't it?"

"Yeah," said Vince, with a nod. "It's soothing. Calms the nerves, and all that."

Still looking skeptical, Granger took a sip. She let out a heavy breath. "Ooh. It's so warm. My throat's been bothering me and," she took another sip. "Mm, that is nice. Really nice. Thank you, Crabbe."

"Welcome."

After awhile, it seemed the tea was taking effect and the tension had eased from Granger's shoulders. She gave a sleepy yawn and leaned against Crabbe again. "Why do you follow that idiotic bitch around anyway?" she asked. Then she frowned. "Gosh, sorry, I don't know what came over me. I don't usually curse." She giggled. "Even if it is true, in this case."

"Umbridge is a bitch," Vince agreed, amused at Granger's comment. "But I need the extra credit. Plus my father told me I had to be nice to her."

"Ugh," Hermione made a disgusted sound. "Your _father. _What for? So he can look good at the Ministry in front of all his Death Eater pals?"

A lump rose in Vince's throat and he swallowed hard. He didn't want to talk about his father. Not with Granger. Not with anyone.

Hermione gasped and covered her mouth. "God-I am so sorry," she whispered, looking aghast. "I don't know what's come over me. I would normally never—I didn't mean—"

"Not your fault," Vince muttered, wishing she hadn't said it, but knowing it was what she had thought, anyway. Besides that, it _was_ the truth.

Granger's eyes grew impossibly wide. And then furious. "Oh my God," she said slowly. She held the tea away from her now, as if afraid to touch it. "What," she breathed, "Is. In. Here?"

Smirking a bit, Vince shrugged.

"Vincent!" Hermione jumped up and set the cup down on the bench, backing away quickly.

"Relax, it's nothing bad," he said, laughing at her. "The Slytherins drink it all the time."

"I feel dizzy." Granger put a hand on her head. "Oh, Merlin. Oh, what was in there?"

"It's a mix of Valerian root, and Kava and something else. And Moonstone Dust or something like that."

Granger looked demented. "Or something like that?" she laughed, desperately. "Those are all mind-altering ingredients, you utter moron!"

Vincent kept laughing. "It's fine Granger. A little bit is good. It's soothing tea." He got up and approached the Gryffindor where she had flattened herself against one of the windows. She looked terrified. He grabbed her hand in a gesture of comfort. "Granger, you're okay. I wouldn't give you something to hurt you."

"You lied to me," she accused, weakly.

"I was helping," he said, starting to feel guilty. He drank soothing tea all the time, and it just made him sleepy. He hadn't thought there was anything wrong with it. "I didn't think it was bad."

"No," she murmured, her wide eyes fixed on the floor. "I guess you wouldn't have known." She dropped her head in her hands. "But your friends should have. Merlin, they can't be giving you things like that! It's illegal, I'm sure."

"Come on," he put an arm around her and walked her back over to the bench. "Sit down, Granger."

She yawned and scrubbed at her eyes with the back of her hands. "I have so much to do, Crabbe. I can't work like this."

"You couldn't work anyway, the way you were all wound up."

She moaned and shrugged, dropping her head in her hands. "Well, what am I going to do now?"

"What you need is sleep. You look like shite, Granger and it isn't healthy."

"But I have to study for the OWLs . . . the practical exam is—"

"Months off." Crabbe scratched his head and stretched.

"Two months," she groaned "Eight weeks."

"Sleep. You can study in the morning with a fresh head."

Granger closed her eyes and leaned against his shoulder again. It seemed to be her new favorite thing to do. "Okay," she said with a nod, finally giving in to the calming effects of the tea.

"Come on, Granger," said Crabbe, standing and pulling her up with him. "I'll walk you back to Gryffindor."

She nodded, compliant, and began to lead the way back. When they reached the top of what seemed like a million staircases, Crabbe huffing and puffing and dragging the sleepy Granger up beside him, they paused in front of portrait of a woman who looked like Crabbe's Aunt Doris.

"This is Gryffindor?" he asked.

Hermione giggled. "Shh," she whispered, placing a finger on his lips. "Don't tell."

He gently removed her hand from his mouth, still feeling the warm tingle from where it had been. "I know," he said. "Okay, then. Get some sleep."

Granger turned to him with tired eyes and smiled softly. Then she leaned forward and gave him another hug. "Thank you, Vincent," she whispered into his chest. Granger sure liked to give hugs, Vince thought. Not that he was about to complain. "It's nice to know you care. Even if your methods are a bit misguided and completely unethical."

Vince pulled back. "Get some sleep, Granger."

She nodded and loosely waved goodnight. Aunt Doris swung open, allowing her entrance and Crabbe turned away, shuffling back down to the Slytherin Common Room with an embarrassing grin on his face.

….

….

….

"Where've you been, you guileless fuckwit?"

"Fuck you, Draco. Move."

"Fuck you, Crabbe. And no." Draco had blocked Crabbe's path to the dormitory and was standing importantly with his arms crossed and head tilted back in challenge. "You were supposed to be here. We were having a team meeting and you—" Draco poked Crabbe in the chest repeatedly, "missed it."

"Catch me up later, I was working."

"Working, were you?" Draco asked with a sneer. "Did I tell you to do work tonight or did I tell you we were having a team meeting?"

"I forgot." Crabbe scowled. "Did I miss something?"

Draco slapped a crumpled piece of parchment against his chest. "This. You need to learn it by tomorrow. And you'd better find someone to teach you, because I don't have the time."

"Weasley is our King?" Crabbe asked.

Draco frowned, a suspicious look on his face. "Yeah . . . Go on."

Crabbe held the note up and read the lyrics, a clever combination of rhymes that degraded the entire Weasley family. When he was finished he said, "Nice, Draco. What's it for?"

Draco gave him a funny look, glanced back at the parchment and then up at Crabbe again. He seemed to be less angry and more perplexed. "How'd you do that?"

"Do what?" asked Crabbe, trying to push by Draco again, but finding his way blocked by spread arms.

"You read that," Draco said. "How'd you do that?"

"Oh," Crabbe blushed, forgetting that Draco was one of few people who knew about his struggles with school. "Um" he shrugged. "I dunno. I just did."

Looking to the left and to the right, Draco began to gesture wildly. "What do you mean you don't know?" he hissed. "Crabbe! You're reading?"

"Guess I am." An unbidden grin began to tinge his features, despite his attempts at nonchalance.

"Merlin for breakfast, you brilliant bastard!" Draco reached up and thumped Crabbe on the forehead.

Crabbe flinched. "Ow. What?"

"You're reading," Draco yelped, "that's what!" Draco looked beside himself and Crabbe couldn't help beaming with pride.

"That's right," said Crabbe. "I am."

"This is what you've been doing all the time, is it?" Draco asked. "It is, isn't it?" Before Crabbe could answer Draco blundered on. "I knew it. Someone said you'd been dating a Mudblood or something and I was about the hex the pants off your fat arse, but reading! Merlin, Crabbe! Good going, there."

"Thanks, Malfoy." Crabbe didn't dare ask the source of the information, but knew that it meant he needed to be more careful during his study sessions with Granger.

"It's about fucking time, anyway." Draco laughed and patted Vince on the shoulder. "Look, just learn the song by heart. We're singing it tomorrow at the game. That'll really show that Potter and his little pauper whose boss, right?"

"Right."

Draco smirked and rubbed his hands together. "Right. So learn it."


End file.
